


North Shore Reunions

by melchixr



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Hanschen is a rich bootlegger yearning for his past lover, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, M/M, Partying, Pining, Prohibition, Reunions, Short Chapters, and boy howdy Hanschen just really wants to impress him, basically spring awakening but great gatsby, ernst is a dancer moving back to new york, pregnancy subplot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melchixr/pseuds/melchixr
Summary: “My life changed this morning,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that looked to have been torn out of a book.  “I was laying in bed when my laundress came by and said that a young man with glasses came by this morning. He couldn’t stay because he was on his way to work, but he dropped this off.”He handed the note over like it was a precious gem, slowly pressing it into his palm. The note, written on what looked like a page from Othello, read in cursive writing:‘Hans,Sorry I missed last week. I’ve been working sunrise to sunset since I got here. But, I’m free today after I finally settle into the new house and I heard you never miss a Friday night unless there’s a natural disaster. So I hope to  see you tonight.Best wishes. Ernst’





	1. Chapter 1

“Hanschen!” Melchior feverously attempted to cut through the crowd. Although It must’ve been at least midnight, the entire patio and yard was lit up by the electric string lights thrown amongst the maple and birch trees. And below the string lights, there must’ve been at least a hundred people. Some Melchior knew, some were perfect, beautiful strangers. ALl the women he had seen were slim,gorgeous things with their hair perfectly feathered and varying in shades of chlorine gold.  “Hans!”

But he wouldn’t dare look at them too long, with Wendla on his arm. She was wearing a gorgoues baby blue dress that the moonlight bounced off of like she were a miniature moon. With her movie star curls cascading over her shoulders. “Melchi, dear!” She cooed out in her surypy southern accent that made her the perfect belle. “I think he might’ve left.”

“Left his own damn party?” Asked Melchior as he elbowed through the twenty-something somebody's. Some called his name and waved, recognizing him from the box at the New Amsterdam watching who might have been Wendla kick and sing with all the other look alike Ziegfeld Girls. Or, God forbid, they recognized him from the stock market floor and saw him go beet red as he shouted numbers that barely made sense to him. But he ignored them and kept barging forward until he was physically stopped by a short girl with a mane of pretty red hair.

“Melchior!” She shrieked. With extended arms, she stopped him in his tracks by grabbing his shoulder. “Oh my, Melchior! It’s been an eternity! How have you been?”

With a nod, Melchior was fast to try and shake her off. From over his shoulder, he could practically feel Wendla glare at him. “I’ve been just fine….uh….” He didn’t even remember her face, much less her name. But they must’ve met before, somehow. But before she could open her mouth to insult him for not remembering her from some party or club, he continued on his original path. “Listen, have you seen Hanschen?”

“Who?” She asked in her dumb, bubble voice.

With tired eyes, Melchior explained to her like how he explained to the dumbass kid in his lecture hall. “Hanschen Rilow? THE Hanschen Rilow.” When he saw her face fall blank, he let out a disappointed sigh. “The bastard whose party this is.”

Her eyes suddenly lit up, looking over her shoulder at the massive house, with light pouring from the windows and music thumping from the inside like a heartbeat. “Oh. Well if you find the guy, tell him he’s got a nice house.”

“Will do, kid,” Melchior rushed past her before she started asking those mundane questions that upper class people always asked over upper class people. ‘How’s the wife’ or ‘Do you still golf’ or ‘Did you hear about Fred?’.

The house wasn’t as crowded at the back, allowing Wendla to let go of his arm and relax for the first time that night. “I can’t stand these damn Eggs,” The young girl muttered as Melchior guided her first to the large lounge. They could hear the hot music of the piano even from the mud room. And upon following it, they found Georg in his natural state, tickling the ivories for a dozen or so drunk party-goers and their boring dates.

But no sign of the actual owner of the home.

The dining room was the only room in the house without the lights on. Inside, Ilse had a table full of suckers that she managed to weasel into her classic seance bit. Thank God every party had a new crowd from the underbelly of New York. And all of them looked at her, with their respective candles lit in front of them, completely buying into her nonsense as she asked them if any of them knew a Lucy.

Hanschen knew it was all a farce. There was no way he was playing along in there.

Finally, the pair found the Moritz, looking meek as ever in the second floor study. He sat on one of the overstuffed chair, accompanied by a girl obviously three sheets to the wind as she talked his ear off.  “Melchior! Wendy!” He called as soon as they entered, completely interrupting the poor girl.

“Moritz, buddy!” He smiled and approached the lean, pale man. He’d like to say boy, although he was twenty-six, he looked no older than sixteen. “Have you seen Hanschen?”

“Yes!” Moritz jumped at the chance to speak to anyone but her. “He was here not too long ago. He and Martha were heading down to the tennis court. If you want I can go and show-” 

He shook his head, placing a solid hand on Moritz’s narrow shoulder. “No I can find it on my own, you enjoy your evening, Moritz.”

His eyes pleaded with Melchior to not leave, but all he did was laugh as he strolled back downstairs with Wendla in tow. She had quickly grown tired of parading about the Rilow mini-mansion and decided to stick with Anna and Thea on the front porch, drinking wine and discussing the pigs they were dating. Melchior wish he could have stayed with her, instead of practically hiking through the intricate garden Hanschen had someone else grow, down the hill ot the tennis court.

He heard them before he could see them, barely lit by the little garden lights. He heard their raucous laughter and the sound of the ball bouncing around, hitting the fence more than their rackets.  

“Melchior!” Hanschen’s voice called as he arrived at the gate. Distracted, Martha sent the ball flying towards him and hit him square in the stomach. “Oof! Nice one, Bessel!”

Melchior couldn’t hold back his chuckle as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and saw Hanschen and Martha. Both of which had taken of their shoes and thrown them into the corner or the  court along with Hanschen’s jacket. He had rolled up his sleeves and the cuffs of his pant, sweat rolling from his forehead from this artuous activity. “What are you two up to? Why’d you leave the party.”

“Melchior, my friend, this IS the party,” He gestured wildly with his rack. He couldn’t tell if Hanschen was eccentric or drunk or both. “Care to join us? You can play the winner.”

“Well who’s been winning?”

With a shrug, Martha burst into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. “We haven’t been keeping track!” She sang between bursts of laughter. 

“But we’ll start keeping track for you, Melchi!” Hanschen called and span the racket in his hand. 

Shaking his head of curls, Melchior sighed. “No, I’m good. But we’re all out of champagne in the house.”

“Have you checked the yard?” Hanschen replied, obviously oblivious to how many people were here. 

“Including the yard.”

With a groan, Hanschen shook his head and began to bounce the tennis ball. He wasn’t drunk, at least not half as drunk as Martha giggled and attempted to balance. He just looked at Melchior with those intense grey eyes of his. Melchior wondered how the hell he had tons of alcohol in his home but never seems to drink more than a glass of scotch. “Well seems like there are some greedy Tomatoes tonight. But I’ll make sure to get some by next weekend.”

“Then I’ll be on my way, in that case. I need to recuperate before next weekend,” Melchior muttered and wandered to Martha to make sure she didn’t fall flat on her face. 

“Gone so soon?” Hanschen said with begging eyes. “The sun just went down, Melchi!”

He shook his head, with a futile chuckle that only Hanschen Rilow could coax out of people. “I left the Missus on the front porch and she’s probably getting more pissed by the second.”

“Then I’ll walk you! Martha, dear, would you like to hit the hay?”

After showing Martha to one of the few empty spare rooms and finding the random gal who was wearing Melchior’s sport coat, the pair lit their respective cigarettes and began to walk down Hanschen’s driveway, past the long line of parked cars. Wendla walked in front of them sleepily. Poor girl had hit a wall. That was obvious in the way that she climbed into Melchior’s car as soon as Melchior opened the door for her and obvious in the way that she immediately pressed her forehead to the glass and shut her eyes when Melchior shut the door. 

“She’s a cute gal,” Hanschen whispered after a long stream of smoke left his lips. He looked at Melchior, eyebrows cocked, tempting him to reply.

“I have to agree with you,” Melchior stated, looking at Hanschen with suspicious eyes. 

Hanschen ignored all suspicion and wandered aimlessly around the slick, black car. “ Melchior, you’re a bit of a socialite, right?”

“Not compared to you,” He said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you know an Ernst Robel?” Haschen asked in a careful manner, like he was prompting Melchior with a very important question.

One that seems to have evaded him completely. “Ernest? Oh yeah I think I met her tonight. I’m not quite sure though,” Ignoring Hanschen’s disappointed gaze, he continued. “The tall broad with the pretty red hair. I thought she was married but you could always-”   


“No, not her!” He scoffed, flicking a few strands of blonde hair from his face. “Ernst Robel. A friend of mine from California. I heard a rumor that he was bound back in the Big Apple.”

Melchior shook his head and leaned against his freshly polished set of wheels. “I didn’t run into him. But I’ll tell you if I do. Not likely but I might.”

With that, hanschen reached out to touch Melchior’s shoulder, a gentle smile on his face reminiscent of the handsome stars on the silver screen. “Have a nice night, Melchi. I’ll be seeing you soon.” As soon as he pulled away his arm, he gazed down at his expensive wrist watch. “Oh, well look at that. I should be on my way.”

“On your way? From your own home?” Melchior asked and stomped out his cigarette butt. 

Shrugging, Hanschen put out his cigarette and decided to shuck off his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder. Hanschen would be damned if he ever kept his jacket on for more than a minute. After being told for years how damn attractive you are, you wouldn’t want to keep clothing on either. “On my way to bed.”

“With all these people here?”

Hanschen nodded. “Sure. I have my bedtime and they have theirs. Eventually, they’ll find their way home.”

And with that, he waved Melchior away. He stood at the top of the driveway for a moment or too, watching his friend drive off. It wasn’t until they reached the end of the long, winding driveway that Hanschen and his large, lit up home was out of sight. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe you didn’t think to tell me! I should be the first to know!” Shouted Hanschen, his love for the theatrics obvious as he leaned as far away from Melchior as his chair would allow.

Hanschen’s shouts of disbelief were quickly drowned out by the noise of the world around them. From their table on Melchior’s modest from porch, there was the sound of the East River shore only a few dozen yards away. Then, there were the neighbors on the other side of the fence in a home much like The Gabor’s. A simple cottage styled home where the occupants played croquet in the backyard. But most prominently was the sound of Wendla singing along tight the record playing in their living room coming through the open front door. 

With all this going on, Hanschen’s childish outburst seemed much smaller than he wanted it to seem. So all Melchior could do was laugh. “I told you last week that I was thinking about it!”

“Thinking it’s doing it, friend!” he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the small glass table between them. “What if I told you that I was thinking of jumping in front of a subway train? That’s very different from actually doing it!”

Melchior only shrugged, letting him continue for a bit until he had worn himself out. And once he was done with his charade of anger, the older of the two friends continued. “Well unlike you, Hanschen, we’re not inclined to extravagant displays. I think we were both happy when I just took her to dinner and just asked her after dessert.”

“Did you get down on one knee?” Hanschen tried to peer into what had happened, but his companion shook his head. “God, Melchior. I won’t even know when you two get married! You’ll just show up on my front step one morning and tell me that you got back from your honeymoon!”

He didn’t respond at first, just sipped the cup of earl grey Hanschen had expertly crafted in their kitchen. Hanschen had often tried so hard to seem charming and clever, keeping his cool while any other would be on pins and needles. So he tried to look over Melchior with calm eyes as he asked. “So will I be your best man?”

Melchior laughed, his eyes immediately locking on Wendla as she leaned out of the doorway. “We'll have Manhattan,The Bronx and Staten Island, too….” She sang in her pretty, soprano voice. When the two looked over at her, she smiled in a wide grin. “I’m off boys. I have rehearsal and then I’m going to take the girls to Little Italy and break the news to them.”

“Goodbye,” Melchior pulled her down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tonight. Be careful out there.”

Wendla fixed her hair beneath her wide sunhat and looked over to Hanschen. “Oh, by the way, Hanschen. I think I met the guy you were asking about.”

With all of his attention gathered, Hanschen looked at the pretty brunette. “Who?”

“That Robel guy. He’s a dancer!” She cooed, leaning on Melchior’s seat. Even if she didn’t mean to, she was showing off the snazzy diamond ring now on her finger. “He came to rehearsal yesterday and taught us this thing called the Black Bottom and boy that was something.”

“Oh really? How’d that go? You’ll have to show me-” Melchior began before Hanschen practically lunged out of his seat towards Wendla. 

“Yes! That’s him! That’s the fella!” He began to celebrate almost immediately. He couldn’t keep anything cool now. A smile was bursting from his lips, his light eyes filled with a wild, shocked abandon. 

Wendla giggled at his reaction before continuing. “He was a tall, scarecrow kinda guy. Full of smiles. Real sweet looking. I liked him.”

“Are you seeing him again today?” Hanschen practically begged. Before she could answer, he stood up and barged inside, looking around their foyer and living room for something. All the owners of the home could do was watch as he tore it apart. 

“Y-Yes!” Wendla called and studied Hanschen, pulling some of Melchior’s stationary from his desk and scribbling something on the piece of paper.

Then, before they even knew it, he was back, bounding at the small woman with fire in his eyes. “Give this to him, Wendla, friend, please!” He folded the note and placed it into Wendla’s hand, making sure to manually wrap her fingers around it himself. “It is a matter of life and death, Wendy.”

“Life and death!” Melchior was quick to laugh before Wendla hushed him and turned back to her tall, broad guest.

“Of course, Hanschen. I’ll be sure of it.”

She was gone not a second later, walking first down the stone path, then past the gate and onto the charming street where her fiance lived. She wasn’t too worried about her short walk to meet with Martha and Thea, who had probably been gossiping about the new choreographer just as much as she had been. Instead, she concerned herself with this so called ‘Life and death’ letter. She was disappointed to see all it said was:

 

‘Dear Ernst Robel,

It’s good to have you back in the city. Sorry for not being in contact. Please come catch-up with me soon. There will be a party this saturday I pray you can make. You know where.

-H. Rilow.’


	3. Chapter 3

It was shocking to find Hanschen sitting in the front room. He was stationary, sat in the large, antique chair in his foyer. His eyes scanned the throng of people coming and going from the grand front door. Those who knew his stared in shock before coming up and greeting him warmly.  Those who didn't acknowledge him, he still nodded and lifted his half full glass of whiskey to them. 

“Hanschen!” Melchior was practically turned to stone where he stood in the doorway. “Well what are you doing here? I expected you to be floating about by now.”

He looked up from where his eyes were locked on the doorway and smiled at his friend. “I'm waiting. Where's the missus?”

“She wasn't feeling too hot,” Explained Melchior as he wandered to the seat beside his old friend.  “What are you waiting for, Hansi?”

The blond took a slow sip of his drink, tearing his eyes from the door to look at Melchior. He was well dressed as always, wearing what seemed to be a brand new grey waistcoat. But not half as well as Hanschen was. He wore a light, ivory summer suit and a pale gold tie that stood out from all the other men rushing too and fro. The men about the house all tried to hard. They wanted so badly to look ritzy and impress. Sure, some had worn suits like Hanschen’s, but they all looked uncomfortable and like the mannequins they had bought the suits off of. 

Hanschen, on the other hand, looked natural. Unlike all the saps around him, he looked like he had been born to wear the suit. He rested his chin on his fist, watching with an elegant air about him. “Ernst,” He said in an unusual, quiet voice. “He’s bound to be here any moment.”

“Oh, did he respond to your letter?” 

Hanschen shook his head. He tried to look at Melchior, but he couldn’t help looking up at the open door everything a tall man walked through. “No, he hasn’t yet. But I’m sure he’ll be here. He’s never late.”

Seeing that it was almost eleven at night, it wasn’t likely that he was late. But more likely that he just wasn’t coming. But Melchior could see the hope in his companion’s eyes as he looked towards the door. He wouldn’t dare tell him that Ernst might now be coming. “Who is this Ernst kid anyway? How’d you meet him?”

For a few moments, Hanschen didn’t speak. He just stared ahead as a grin spread across his face.  Then, he spoke, his voice light and nostalgic. “I meant Ernst two summers ago. His aunt lives on the North Shore and he came to visit. I ran into him at the train station when I was leaving for an offer upstate. He was on the station floor, the content of his bags just scattered everywhere. So I helped the poor kid out,” His smile grew as he recalled that day. Melchior could only watch as he wished to relive that day. “He’s a dancer and a rather good one too. But he always wanted to be a choreographer. That’s why he moved from Cincinnati to California. He wanted to make it big. And it looks like he has.”

“And you’ve been keeping in contact, huh?” Melchior had now started scanning the room as well, in search of anyone that might be the Ernst in question. Seemed like Hanschen’s cool desperation was contagious. 

He looked back to see Hanschen shaking his head. “Well, not exactly.”

“Why not?”

Hanschen obviously didn’t like bringing this up, but after a pause, he continued with new tone. A more hushed one. “Well...He came by again that next summer. But in August when he went back... We sort of ended on a poor note. Nothing to balk at. We simply...went our separate ways.”

Judging by Hanschen’s sudden change in attitude, Melchior decided to keep quiet and not ask anything beyond. For a moment of two, the silence between them was awkward. But as time passed, it had grown into a more comfortable silence. Melchior found some peace sitting beside the host, watching the hoard pour into the house and very few crawl out. 

“I’d be surprised if he shows up,” Melchior said after what must’ve been hours but was probably only thirty minutes.

Hanschen finally looked away from the door, frowning at Melchior as he spoke. “You’re probably right, Melchi. I hate it that you’re always right.”

A figure emerged from the crowd as Hanschen was feeling the need to give up, coming towards the comfortable pair. Slender and lanky, Hanschen saw the man from the corner of his eye and felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

But his heart really fell when his eyes rolled up his body to see it was Moritz, with a broad smile and his glasses crooked. “Hi, Hanschen, Melchior,” He said in his practically copywritten whine. If everyone didn’t know him as an author, they knew him for his whine. Needless to say, some people were shocked to see a man who wrote eloquent novels, awkward and speaking in a lisped whine. “I see you two haven’t left your sentinel post. Thirsty?”

Before they even replied, Moritz extended two pale hands, both of which holding a glass full of deep, brown whiskey that burnt Melchior’s throat to look at. But they took them with gratitude, remembering finally that they were supposed to be at a party. 

“Thanks, Moritz,” Hanschen’s voice changed suddenly, back to his cheerful and sly smile. He was so used to playing the charismatic one that it had became his default, even when his mood was obviously in the gutters. “What have you been up to? Met any dolls?”

With a shrug, he shook his head. “No. I think I might just give up at this point. Every girl I’ve ever met is either too dumb and it feels like I’m talking to a damn wall. Or, they’re too smart for me and make me feel like I’m some sort of dunce.” 

“Women are a mystery, Moritz,” sighed Melchior as he took a long sip of the drink he was given. It made his face heat up, so it probably wasn’t just straight whiskey, but nothing was nowadays. Everyone was cutting liquor with everything from rubbing alcohol to water to rat poison.  But hopefully, it wold get him at least a bit tipsy. 

As Moritz nodded in agreement, Hanschen continued off of Melchior’s statement. “Or, just don’t bother with them. That’s what I do and I’m doing just fine.” 

For a few moments, Moritz and Melchior shared a handful of glances, eyebrows raised and eyes suspicious.  Part of them both knew what he meant, the sneaking suspicion that they had for the past few years getting a slight confirmation. But not enough to actually confirm. Just enough for them to shrug it off and look back at Hanschen, who was sniffing his own glass suspiciously. “This isn’t mine.” He said disappointedly before poring the ambiguous brown liquid into the potted fern next to him.  “Who comes here and doesn’t drink my liquor?”


	4. Chapter 4

‘Dear Melchior,

COME OVER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. IT IS AN EMERGENCY.

Love,

Hanschen.’

 

The letter, no matter how strange, came hand delivered by a delivery boy straight to Melchior’s front door. The young man, dressed in working clothes and reeking of french wine, showed up with his hands dirty and callused from delivering boxes. A piece of stationary with “From the Desk of Hanschen Rilow’ on the front in grasp.  “From Mr. Rilow.” Was all he said, in what seemed to be a Brooklyn accent.

“Mr. Rilow, huh?” Huffed Melchior before reading the letter. He was already pissed enough from the doorbell forcing him to leave a very sick Wendla in his bed. “Tell him I’ll be there in half an hour, but I won’t be happy about it.”

Melchior was true to his word, arriving soon after, still attempting to tuck in his shirt as he approached Hanschen’s front door. It was flung open almost immediately after he had knocked. Instead of being a maid or another one of the young workers roaming the property, it was Hanschen in all his frantic glory. Sure, he was still as Handsome as ever. If Melchior had been any woman, he probably would have fainted at the sight of Hanschen’s messy hair and his silk pajama set. Sure, it was closing in on noon, but what the hell did they expect?

“Melchior, thank God you’re here!” He sighed and extended a hand, pulling Melchior into the foyer by his collar. “I about assumed you were dead!”

The jerking movement was shocking at first, but not shocking enough to shake Melchior out of being confused as to why he was even there. “Hanschen, what’s the emergency?!” 

Hanschen decided to forgo responding, and instead began walking down his foyer and towards his first large, living room. Or, as he called it, ‘the first floor living area’. Melchior had no option but to follow.

In the living room, maids were moving around just as frantically as Hanschen, washing the windows and vacuuming and dusting like absolute maniacs.  One almost knocked Melchior over as she rushed from the dining room to the patio with her arms full of linens. “What the hell is going on?” Melchior asked his host. 

The blond kept a few feet in front of Ernst as he charged towards the open, double doors and out to the backyard. There, the handymen that had been roaming around earlier were unloading large boxes or alcohol from the truck they had pulled around the back of the house and hustled them down to the cellar. About the grass, long tables had been set up among the rose bushes, prime for perfect strangers to meet and rink together to their hearts content.  Maids ran about the tables, placing chairs and setting up white tablecloths and setting out cutlery along with the trademark Rilow candles along the center of the table. 

“My life changed this morning,” Hanschen finally said as he admired the gardener slaving over his African Lily’s and Lupine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that looked to have been torn out of a book.  “I was laying in bed when my laundress came by and said that a young man with glasses came by this morning. He couldn’t stay because he was on his way to work, but he dropped this off.” 

He handed the note over like it was a precious gem, slowly pressing it into his palm. The note, written on what looked like a page from Othello, read in cursive writing: 

 

‘Hans,

Sorry I missed last week. I’ve been working sunrise to sunset since I got here. But, I’m free today after I finally settle into the new house and I heard you never miss a Friday night unless there’s a natural disaster. So I hope to  see you tonight.

Best wishes. Ernst’

 

“So he’s coming tonight? That’s wonderful. But, you see Hanschen, today is my day off and Wendla is still sick so I better be heading-”

“But you can’t leave yet, Melchior!” Hanschen spat almost immediately. His eyes were wild, unlike the usual tamed and subdued Hanschen. But recently, he seemed to have been stepping away from that persona further and further. At least, when the ever elusive Ernst was involved. “I need your help, friend. Tonight is the biggest night of my life!”

Melchior had to extend his arms to stop Hanschen from grabbing him bu the collar once more. “Hold on, Hanschen!” He exclaimed, almost laughing at the other. “You’re not getting married! Besides, what help can I possibly be?”

Hanschen shook his head, wild strands of hay-blond hair flying back and forth. “I need your help with everything! I can’t possibly mess this up!” As he spoke, he paced the patio with his bare feet hitting the flat, freshly scrubbed stone. “I need your help to on what flowers to place in what vase. Or what to wear. Or, damn it, Melchior, I haven’t even spread the word yet! Who do you think would help make a good impression?”

“I dunno. Maybe Moritz? Or Martha, people really like her. Ilse is a nut but she’s a crowd pleaser. I can call a couple of the guys from the firm, they’re the ritzy type that can keep their cool under alcohol,” He had started to go along with Hanschen’s insane charade before he realized exactly what he was doing. “Hanschen, this is my day off. I’m not going to spend it running errands for you and your party!”

Apparently, even when Hanschen was going off the deep end about some random dancer, he was just as charming and charismatic as well put together, sharp, sane Hanschen. “It won’t be all day,” Hanschen assured him before flashing a smooth smile. “But I’m going to need you to start making phone calls now.”


	5. Chapter 5

Melchior had only come home that night to make sure that Wendla hadn’t died and to change into a new suit. To his relief, she was fast asleep where he left her that morning when he first said he had to head over to Hanschen’s. Instead of waking her, he just left a note on the bedside explaining where he was all day and headed back to the Rilow Residence as the sun set and cars began to form the line up the driveway. 

Surprisingly, Hanschen wasn’t perched in his foyer spot. Nor was he looming about anxiously. Instead, after searching for a few minutes among the crowds in the front room, he found Hanschen in the backyard. He stood between a pretty redhead, staring up at him with big admiring eyes and a very bored looking man was either someone from Melchior’s brokerage firm, or someone that looked just liked all the others. 

With a charming grin, he told a story that captured the crowd around him. As Melchior got closer and the surrounding noise subsided, he could hear Hanschen’s silky and and effortless voice laugh, “And I look across the course and I see Otto coming towards me. And I don’t think much of it, until I see his trousers are completely soaked! The poor guy fell into the pond!”

Those who had been listening laughed louder than they should have while those who weren’t listening force laughed when they assumed they would be appropriate. Judging by this, they reacted as expected when Melchior separated them to get to the host. Most of them didn’t care too much, except for those who were just mad that Hanschen’s attention was taken from them when Melchior stepped forward.

“Melchior, how’s the missus?” He asked as soon as he saw the other man, forgetting all about the other guests. 

“She’s sick, but she should be doing fine,” He replied quickly, looking around for any sign of the man that caused all the chaos. “How’s the search?”

Hanschen looked over his shoulder at the guests bouncing about to the band that had suddenly formed without his knowledge. “To my knowledge, it’s not amounting to much. But I’m not too worried.”

Hanschen’s sudden composure was shocking. So shocking that Melchior was practically taken aback by it.  “What do you mean not worried? That’s all you’ve been this past week!”

“I have eyes about the place, Melchior,” He leaned down to whisper before he went back to entertaining the crowd. He was a spectacle, filled with stories and anecdotes that  Melchior hadn’t heard in the three years of being his friend. Everything from growing up on a farm to running from police to going to buy his car seemed to be interesting coming from his smiling mouth. 

Melchior had to admit, he was also glued to Hanschen. Not exactly what he was saying, but Hanschen himself. And the way the light from house shone off his eyes and caused a glimmer in his light eyes. He didn’t take his eyes off of him until Ilse came shoving through the crowd to get to them, just as Melchior had done earlier. But she had come with a message.

“Hanschen!” She called, trying to capture his attention as she broke through the bodies about the grass. “Hanschen!”   


When she finally broke through the inner circle, she captured Hanschen’s much sought after attention. He could tell from the smile on her face that it was good news. “Hanschen!” She gasped out, sounding as thrilled as she looked. “He’s here!”

“I have to go, I’m so sorry!” He told the group as a grin spread across his face. He didn’t give anyone a chance to ask why before he took off down across the lawn and back to the lit up house. While the other guests looked to one another with confusion in their eyes, Melchior felt his feet begin to rush after Hanschen.

He caught up as Ilse and Hanschen made it to the back door, opening it up to the living room spilling with piano music and laughing party-goers. “He’s in a tweed suit,” Ilse explained. “He looks just like the picture you showed us! Maybe a bit more tired.”

Hanschen either ignored her or couldn’t hear her, too engrossed with the idea of the man in question. “Picture?” Melchior asked the woman accompanying them when they realized Hanschen was a lost cause for conversation.

She nodded, stands of bright red hair swirling around as she did. She was a cute girl. The kind of girl you’d see performing at a bar and hope she would catch a glimpse of you. This was probably because she was. THe polar opposite of Wendla. While Wendla performed with smiling faces and a head of curls to the top tier of New York’s social ladder. Ilse roamed the dark side of the city, singing in her low voice and being the image of the girl your parents did want you to marry.

“Yeah,” She said, causing Melchior to stop fantasizing about her rugged and fascinating life. “He showed Otto, Martha, and I pictures of this guy so we’d know what we were looking for.” They came to a stop as a gaggle of boys from Columbia, drunk as skunk, tried to spark up a conversation with the legendary Hanschen Rilow. “He has lots of pictures of him. Of them sunbathing and sitting about in the garden. They played a lot of tennis.”

Melchior didn’t have the time to sit and contemplate what kind of friendship these two had where they appeared to spend entire summers together but then just drop off their respective sides of the earth. They had finally made it to the foyer, where Hanschen looked around desperately, like a little boy who lost his mom in a train station.

Melchior didn’t know where to look to find the man in question in the busy room. Plenty of tall men were in there, plenty of men in fashionable light suits, and almost all of them looked tired. 

“Hansi!” He whispered to the taller man beside him. “What does he look like?”

Now that Hanschen was both still and silent,it all felt wrong. It was definitely a breath of fresh air for everyone in the vicinity, but there was something deeply wrong. You could see it in Hanschen’s eyes. His charming smile had dropped and his eyes were suddenly filled with fear, maybe even anxiety. It was hard to place because Melchior had never seen Hanschen feeling that sort of emotion before.

He followed his cold, nervous gaze across the room to a tall, slim man standing by the doorway. His big, doe-like brown eyes swept across the room until they arrived at the entrance to the other room, where they locked on Hanschen in a very similar expression.

Both parties in this meeting froze. It wasn’t like they weren’t expecting to see each other. They came here exclusively to see each other. But when the time came they were lost, just staring from across a long hall filled with people that didn’t matter.

Ernst didn’t look how Melchior expected. He always imagined some sort of tall, chiseled, lady-killer like Hanschen. But instead the man at the door looked like the pastor of a small town. His face was innocent and soft, covered in sun kissed freckles. He seemed oddly proportioned, like all his limbs had been stretched out with the sleeves of his jacket coming just an inch of two too short. A head of brown waves were left untamed on his head, not like Moritz’s rat’s nest, but like the paintings of Greeks in the Met. 

Ernst was the first of the two to take a step forward, slowly closing the gap with each long stride. As he walked over, Melchior should hear Hanschen take deep breaths, like a soldier bracing himself for the enemy attack.

“Hello, Hanschen. Nice to see you,” He said when he had arrived to their group. When he finally took his eyes off of Hanschen, he looked over at Ilse and Melchior, standing off to the side him like two toddlers clinging to their father’s hand. “I’m Ernst Robel. Nice to meet you both.”

Although his light and feminine voice had sort of thrown the pair off, both Ilse and Melchior stuck out their respective hands to shake Ernst’s, not realizing that Hanschen had yet to shake it himself. “I’m Ilse Neumann. Nice to meet you.”

“Melchior Gabor,” He nodded as he noticed how clammy his palms were. Although his voice and his cherub like cheeks were youthful, the dark circles under and around his eyes made him look aged. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Ernst.”

“Oh, you have?” He turned back to Hanschen, who’s deep breathing hadn’t done anything to stop his face from turning a light pink and his fingers from twitching. “Hanschen, you haven’t been talking about me, have you?” 

He was suddenly playful, a blessed smile spreading across his face as he faced his old friend.  And Hanschen was quick to respond, springin from his nervous state with a loud laugh. “Only good things, Ernst. Only the best for you.”

The sudden whirl of movements scared Melchior at first, making him fear that the pair of men had unexpectedly started swinging punches at each other. But he was happy to be mistaken when he saw the brash movements from both become a tight embrace. He couldn’t see Hanschen’s face, as it was buried in Ernst’s skinny chest, but he could hear little chuckles muffled from Ernst’s clothing.

The rest of the night, Melchior attempted to spend the party drinking and laughing with friends. But every once in a while, he would spot the pair. They seemed to roam from the back garden to the first floor landing of the spiral staircase and eventually, the back corner of the upstairs study. This is where Melchior stumbled into them while he and Moritz were searching for Martha to challenge her to doubles. They knew full well that Martha, being a professional player, would beat them in a millisecond, but the pair practically had booze in their bloodstreams. 

“Hansi!” Melchior called as they wandered aimlessly into the room, filled with bookshelves and the consistent smell of freshly brewed coffee. “Have you seen Madame Bessel?”   


Hanschen simply raised a hand to shoo them away, focusing his attention on the rousing chess game between the he and Ernst, both of which had abandoned their jackets sometime in the night. 

Ernst was the one to look up, his kind smile sending sunbeams over Melchior. “He’s in the middle of losing right now. Come back in a few minutes when he’s completely beaten.”

“Hush!” Hanschen scowled and momentarily picked up a pawn before putting it down and continuing to think. Ernst began to laugh as Melchior and Moritz snuck out of the room, his chuckles following them down the hall. As they arrived back at the stairwell, Melchior was sure he could hear Hanschen’s voice crying out, “Don’t laugh at me, Ernie!”


	6. Chapter 6

Melchior didn’t want to hike up to Hanschen’s house that morning, but he knew that Hanschen would be absolutely enraged if he didn’t. So he made the trek up the long hill, dotted with the cars of the remaining patrons from last night’s festivities. He was definitely still hung over from the party, having left his car there last night after he forgot about it  and walked the two miles home. But he was so damn elated that he didn’t care if he was hung over, on the brink of death, and bound to a wheelchair with two broken legs. He was content with the bright, morning sun on his face and last night’s clothes hanging off of his frame. 

“I need to talk to Hanschen!” He practically sang when the door opened, revealing a very sleepy and grouchy Georg in the doorway. “It’s absolutely urgent.”

Without a word, Georg stepped aside to allow Melchior into the warzone of the Rilow Household. The foyer was littered with forgotten jackets, shoes, and a couple of dresses.  The living room was almost completely turned upside down, with a couple of strangers fast asleep on the couches and Moritz shacked out on the ground where Melchior left him. 

Everything was a mess, except the master bedroom. As always it was immaculate, clean white linens and dusted tables with a full vases of flowers that Hanschen had ordered every week. Melchior barely managed to knock, the joy of the news on his tongue making him want to burst down the door. But he didn’t. He waited to hear Hanschen’s voice chirp. “Come in!”

“Hanschen!” Melchior shouted, flinging the door open. There he spotted Hanschen, sitting beside the large bay windows facing the East River. He lounged in an armchair in a robe that, if Melchior looked harder, might have been monogramed.

“Good morning to you too, Melchi!” He chuckled, raising a glass of champagne up in greeting. “How are you?”

Melchior charged with wide eyes towards Hanschen, smiling smugly up at the frantic man. It was nice to see the roles had returned to their correct hosts. “Hanschen, I have the most wonderful news for you! Wendla went to the doctor’s this morning to see about her nausea.”

“Good for her,” Hanschen mused with a sip, his eyes drifting about Melchior’s rugged appearance. 

Before the older of the pair could continue on his outburst, his eyes catching on the shine of a second glass of champagne set on the table beside Hanschen. He knew that he enjoyed a morning drink every once in a while, but two glasses seemed a bit excessive for ten in the morning. Slowly, as he looked about the room, things seemed more and more out of place. 

First, he saw the clothes laid out on the chair beside the bed, a brown tweed jacket thrown over the back. Then, to the pair of circular glasses on the bedside table. Finally, to a dark spot on top of Hanschen’s immaculate white sheets. It took a moment to realize that the dark spot was a head of dark brown hair. And underneath the set of waves, a single brown eyes was locked on Melchior. 

“Oh. Uh…. Good morning,” Was all he could manage as Ernst emerged from the sea of white blankets. His hair was a mess and there was a dumb smile on his face, like he knew a secret that Melchior didn’t. Only when he sat up did he notice Ernst’s tan, bare chest, with his clean cream shirt laid out with the rest of the suit. It took a few moments for Melchior to realize he should be looking away out of common courtesy.

Or at least that’s what he assumed someone should do when they see a probably naked man sleeping in their best friend’s bed. 

“Good morning, Melchior,” He smiled in response, tucking the large pillows around him so he could sit upright and breath in the morning air. “And you don’t need to avert your eyes. I’m sure that it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Melchior looked back up Ernst as Hanschen stood and walked to Ernst, sitting on the bedside and handing Ernst the other tall flute of champagne. “If I had known you were here I wouldn’t have come in!” He was quick to apologize. His eyes flew between the two men, sitting close to one another with content, bemused expressions. 

“It’s completely fine,” Ernst hummed after a long sip. “What was your big, wonderful news?”

As Ernst asked this, Melchior noticed Hanschen’s hand creeping towards Ernst, moving up to slowly move his hand over the mess of curls. He seemed to be attempting to tame them, but the smile on his face made it seem more like he was running his fingers through his hair out of fondness.  “Well,” He muttered, pulling his eyes away from the pair and instead chose to stare at the light blue curtains, swaying ever so slightly from the soft breezes coming from the water. “Wendla went to the doctor’s this morning. And she’s pregnant!”   


After a deep breath, Melchior left the joy take over him again, ignoring the confusing relationship unfolding around them to see Hanschen’s fist balled in Ernst’s hair. And even though Hanschen’s grasp was firm, the young man smiled genuinely at Melchior, “Wow, that’s amazing Melchior. Congradula-”

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE A DADDY!” Hanschen leapt to his feet, practically charging at Melchior with open arms. He reached out, holding his best friend by the shoulders and shaking him as he spoke. “A little baby Gabor! I’m so happy to be a godfather!”   
  
With a head shaking more than his body, Melchior laughed. “Now, I’m not sure how Wendla would feel about that, but-”

“To hell with how Wendla feels! This is your baby boy!” 

“Or girl!” Ernst added from the bed, watching the two with amused eyes. 

Hanschen shook his head, letting go of Melchior to rush around the room, fetching some clothes from his closet and maniacally rummaging through his dresser. “No, no, no, Ernie, dear!” He called with a happy glance over his shoulders. “It needs to be a boy. You can’t name a girl Hanschen.”   


“I suppose you sould name her Hansi,” Ernst suggested, not even phased as Hanschen tossed his robe to the floor, standing naked in his bedroom as he changed into the first thing he found. Melchior, of course, flinched away almost automatically, suppressing his happiness once more and staring out at the curtain. 

“Jesus!” He scoffed, trying desperately not to notice how Ernst kept his eyes on Hanschen with that content smile on his face. “I’m not naming her Hansi and please, for the love of God-”

“I’ll get dressed as I go to the car,” Hanschen barely buttoned the trousers he had pulled from the ground of his closet and threw his shirt over his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he rushed to Ernst’s side and kissed the man in the bed with a quick casualty that a couple together for years would. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

And with that, he was off, a flash of blond hair taking off down the hall and down the stairs faster than he’d ever seen Hanschen or any other man move. He was happy to leave expecting father and reinvigorated lover in his dust.

**Author's Note:**

> This took a long time to write, but I post things that don't take years to write on my tumblr @melchixr/ http://melchixr.tumblr.com/   
> Also, please tell me if you like things like this because I'd really like to write more like this.  
> (Aka: Convoluted AUs with less fluff and more story)


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